As Above As Below
by Adi Who is Also Mou
Summary: When Molly Hooper decided to help Sherlock Holmes...she didn't think she actually signed up for babysitting. Especially when that three-year old used to be the World's only Consulting Detective. Sherlock really shouldn't poke around Mycroft's experiments.
1. Chapter 1

As Above, As Below

* * *

_Three Months Ago_

Molly Hooper sat at her small kitchen table, eyes focused on the swirls on the wood. She noticed that there were several places the wood had chipped and the polish had dulled. She should really get a new table. She leaned back in her chair and there was a slight creak. Molly sighed, she had been so busy with her work that she barely had time to renovate her flat, and now she was fairly certain half of her furniture was in need of replacement.

Not that her working hours at Bart's were inhumanely long, Molly mused. She could easily have taken time off or leave early, letting her assistants to tidy up after her. But Molly was fastidious by nature; she loathed leaving the autopsy half done, even if the only work left was sewing up the cadaver. But, Molly mused, the main reason she was barely having time to anything relatively social (Not that she was social to begin with, but she missed going out with her best friends once in a while) was because of a certain ( Well, technically, the World's _only_ but let's not stroke his already over large ego) consulting detective. The very same consulting detective, who was supposed to be dead, disgraced and the very same one who made her heart skip a couple of beats every time he entered her lab.

The very same consulting detective who was now hollering (yes _hollering_) her name from her bedroom, sounding like the world was ending.

Molly sighed again and slipped off her chair. "Sherlock, what is it this time?" She said tiredly. He had only been kipping at her place for two days and already she was thinking that Doctor Watson deserved a medal.

Or a sainthood. Or both.

"Get me new clothes. I can't wear these. They are atrocious and Mycroft is finding a sick sort of pleasure at the thought of me wearing these. I cannot give that fat git the satisfaction."

"Sherlock for the last ti-EEK!" Molly having finally reached her bedroom doorway, more or less fell on

the floor in shock, having been treated to the wonderful (oh and was it _wonderful_) sight of Sherlock Holmes standing at the foot of her bed, hair damp from his shower and wearing nothing but her little blue towel, wound along his thin waist.

Sherlock seemed absolutely untroubled by her reaction, or by his state of undress. "Look at this!" He continued, brandishing a grey colored graffiti t-shirt in her direction, "This t-shirt, why does it say 'Randomosity'? That isn't even a word!"

"It's an urban saying Sherlock." Molly said, picking herself up from the floor, "It's supposed to be _hip_."

"I don't want _hip_! Just because I'm supposed to be dead and disgraced doesn't mean I have to forego dignity in the name of disguise!"

Molly attempted to look serious, even though she was fighting the urge to giggle (Sherlock looked adorable sometimes, even when he was frustrated) "Sherlock, you said that the art of disguise is hiding in plain sight. And if you walk around in Westwood or Spencer Hart, people are bound to look twice at you. These are your best chance on walking around unnoticed, without the need for elaborate disguises."

"Mycroft told you to say that, didn't he?"

Molly flushed scarlet, embarrassed at being caught. She refused to back down; however, "The car will be here in half an hour. Please, Sherlock, get dressed."

She made to walk out (she wanted to get out of that room as quickly, she couldn't trust herself to stay in the same room with a half-naked Sherlock Holmes without any guarantees that she wouldn't jump him.) when Sherlock called her back, "Molly…I…Could you make tea? John used to make tea before we left on a case."

Molly smiled, her heart going out to the detective. Or what was left of the heart she had already given to him since the day he walked into the morgue for the first time, "Of course Sherlock."

"And Earl Gray. Not that disgusting packaged tea."

Molly decided that if she killed him; people would never find the body.

* * *

_Now_

Molly had been immersed in a _Glee_ marathon when there was an insistent knock on her door. Scowling because she had been looking forward to an evening with absolutely no interruptions, she reached her door, fully expecting her I-am-to-lazy-to-go-to-the-shops-and-would-like-to-live-off-of-your-tea-and-sugar neighbor. She didn't bother opening the door, just shouting "Tea or sugar?" through the closed doorway.

"Neither, Ms. Hooper, though tea would be lovely. Please open the door; it is of the highest importance."

The cold clipped voice; even though she had only heard if a few times, could only belong to Mycroft Holmes. Heart thudding, as a visit from Mycroft would mean news about Sherlock, she wrenched open the door with much force.

Something small with a dark curly mop of hair bounded into her, nearly knocking her off her feet.

"I…um…Hello." She said, awkwardly patting said mop of hair, once she regained her footing. The boy looked up from where he was attached to her legs, his tiny hands clutching at her pajama bottoms. Her heart nearly stopped when she realized he had a pair of very familiar and very unusual eyes. Wait, so that could only mean…

"No Ms. Hooper. I assure you he is not any _spawn_ of my brother. He _is_ my brother."

* * *

_A/N: Yep. Felt like leaving it here, this being just the prologue. More to come soon! Kudos if you got the Artemis Fowl reference._

_Also, no worries, I'll be updating "How to Keep Your Pathologist" pretty soon, as I'm feeling better. I just needed to write this one, being bitten by the plot bunny as I am. _

_I'm mainly writing this sorta AU story for my amusement, but please review! I love hearing your thoughts and let's face it…I live and breathe on your reviews._

_Much love to NoveraDeMedici for being the Sherlock to my John, and to my drama queen friend, who has no idea I'm using his band's name as a title, so I just felt like acknowledging him._

_So review and stay tuned!_

_Adi x_

_Adi-who-is-also-mou (on tumblr)_


	2. Chapter 2

As Above As Below

Chapter 2

* * *

Once Molly had managed to pry the boy-who-was-supposed-to-be-Sherlock's fingers away from her pajama bottoms and put on her dressing gown over her frankly hideous pink nightshirt, she sat down in front of the decidedly creepy elder Holmes, who was perched on her IKEA couch and glaring at it like it personally offended him by existing.

The moment she sat down, the dark haired boy immediately squished himself next to her, attempting to burrow into her side and muttering something like "Mycrwoft simple-toon." Molly automatically pulled him onto her lap, wrapping her arms around him. There was a momentary flare of anger when she felt the coarse grey shirt he was wearing. The material of his equally dismal shorts was rough and she could tell that it was put on him just to serve the purpose of clothing, not comfort.

"Well, he seems to be quite taken with you, Ms. Hooper. I would have taken him to Doctor Watson-" Molly felt the boy's grip on her tighten- "But regrettably John has already left for Africa. Haunted by memories, John is."

"You are avoiding the main question," Molly said, trying not to show how much she was panicking, "If this _is_ Sherlock, I don't see how it could be Sherlock, can you really change someone into a child? No, that's not possible; of course it's not possible, I'm dreaming aren't I? I knew I shouldn't have drunk that wine…"

"Ms. Hooper, please, breathe. Now, I'm not at liberty to tell you everything that goes on in our labs, but for now, know that several bio-weapons have been created that can reduce a subject's mental and physical state by a few years. Unfortunately my ever curious brother, even in hiding, decided to go poking his nose around in one of my _top-secret_ labs. And my employees, deeming him a threat, doused him in a quantitive supply of the prototype drug."

"So you," Molly said, pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to hold back the headache forming after Mycroft's word vomit, " _Accidentally turned your younger brother into a three-year old?"_

"It was an experiment!" Mycroft shouted defensively, causing both Molly and three-year old Sherlock to jump, "And he wasn't meant to be the one being doused! Those idiot lab-rats-" Here the British government paused and took a deep breath. Once he transitioned back into the ice-man façade, he continued, "Rest assured the guilty parties have been suitably punished. Now, Sherlock's intellectual prowess has enabled him to keep some of his mental faculties, but for all intents and purposes, he is now a child. The drug should wear off eventually, but I cannot be certain when. Sherlock could either grow slowly or instantaneously. Or he may not grow at all."

Molly squeaked, "What? No, he can't just stay three years old! There must be-"

Mycroft eyed her curiously, "My employees are, as we speak, working on a counter-drug. It might take a while, but we are fairly sure we can create a counter drug. All I ask of you, Ms. Hooper, is to take care of my brother. I cannot, there are attempts on my life nearly everyday. Also, Sherlock here likes to kick my shins once in a while in a fit of pique..." Sherlock giggled into Molly's chest, "-Now, you are a somewhat ordinary young woman. You can easily pass him off as your nephew. I'll pay you of course"

"I don't need payment. I'll look after Sherlock. I don't need any incentive."

"Then take it for Sherlock's expenses. The money will be deposited into your bank account by morning. I must be going now," Mycroft stood up and crossed to the door, picking up his umbrella from the stand, "If there are any inconveniences, just type 'Problem' on your blog, my PA will help you then. Goodnight Ms. Hooper and….little brother."

"I'm not little!" Sherlock spouted indignantly. Molly awkwardly patted him on the head, trying to keep him from running after Mycroft. Softly thumping him on the back as she knew calmed children down, she cooed, "It's alright, it's alright, you are still brilliant, Sherlock."

Sherlock's body soon relaxed and he burrowed closer to her. She tucked his head under her chin, feeling how bony and thin his body was. She looked over at Mycroft, who was throwing her an odd look.

"You know Ms. Hooper, I take that back. You are not at all ordinary. Then again, you wouldn't have gotten my brother's trust if you were utterly boring."

And with that, the British government swept from the flat.

* * *

A\N: _here you go! The response to this fic really overwhelmed me! _

_Sorry if this is a short chapter, I'm in the hospital, waiting for the surgery which should start in an hour. And there's nothing like writing Kid Sherlock fluff to help you feel calm._

_Thank you to all those who reviewed and made my day-**MadAsAHatterJayy, lililoop, xvxv, Morbidbydefault (squee!), Emily, Cinnamon Pink, Zora Arian, fiction-from-my-mind, amirizar2003, whytejigsaw, IAmSherlocked123 and patemalah21!**_

_As usual, thank you to NoverDeMedici for being my muse!_

_Review and make my day?_

_Adi x_


	3. Chapter 3

As Above As Below

Chapter 3

* * *

"Sherlock," Molly said exasperatedly, "Please, put this one on, it's much comfier!" She brandished her nephew's old Kermit t-shirt at Sherlock, who gave the Muppet a glare that would have made the older Sherlock proud.

"No, Muppets are insti…insi…shtupid."

Molly bit her cheek, trying not to giggle at the lisp that had crept into the three-year old Sherlock's tongue. He should be thanking his stars that Molly was a kind person by nature; this would have made great blackmail material otherwise. Not that she still had gotten her head around the fact that this stubborn, lisping toddler had only hours ago been the World's only supposedly dead Consulting Detective.

"Okay, we'll go shopping later, but for tonight, can't you just wear it as a night-shirt? No one will see you."

"Mycrwoft shaid he will bring my clothes."

As if on cue, Molly's mobile pinged, alerting her to a text.

_Clothes will be sent in the morning. Also, he likes pirates._

_M.H_

Molly stared at the text for a long while, Sherlock making background noises while he waited most impatiently. After Molly had gotten her head around the fact that the elder Holmes probably had everyone's phone numbers at the palm of his hand (literally), she dug into the drawer, and found a rather battered old tee, by the size of it, it seemed to belong to her years back.

Molly made a mental note to clean the chest of drawers as soon as circumstances allowed.

Sherlock more or less pounced on the tee, grabbing the Pirates of the Caribbean shirt and hugging it to his chest.

"Sherlock, that thing is really old and smelly."

"I want to wear this."

"Sherlock-"

"Wear THIS!"

Having three nieces and nephews meant Molly Hooper knew when she was defeated. Sighing, she grabbed the helm of the coarse shirt Sherlock was wearing and tugged it over his head.

_I'm undressing Sherlock Holmes in my bedroom_, she thought and then mentally slapped herself.

Molly frowned as she felt Sherlock's prominent ribs. She would have to feed him up; it was unhealthy that he was this thin.

The Pirates tee was nearly a dress on Sherlock and it hung off his shoulders. He looked like a tiny scarecrow; hair mussed up and high cheekbones given his face unnatural shadows. The smell of camphol hung off him.

He spun around gleefully, face alight with a happiness Molly had only seen in the older Sherlock when there was a gruesome triple homicide. It warmed her heart that this Sherlock could find joy in the smaller things.

_Note to self,_ she thought, _find out what Mycroft meant by Sherlock retaining some of his mental faculties._

"Do you need help going to the loo?" She asked the toddler.

"No," he replied in the typical pride a toddler is capable of summoning, "I can go by myshelf."

"Alrighty then! I'll have some dinner ready by the time you come out, okay?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at her cheery tune and Molly made a mental note never to use 'alrighty' ever again.

* * *

Molly had just managed to get to that comfortable place between sleep and waking, when she peeked open her eyes a fraction to notice the orange bundle at the foot of her bed.

Sherlock had been quite taken with a hideous orange blanket her sister had given to her as a joke some years previous. She never used it (it reminded her too much of the police shock blankets) but refrained from throwing it away on mere sentiment.

"You alright, Sherlock?"

"I had a bad dream…" Sherlock said pitifully, and a closer inspection told Molly that he was holding back tears.

Oh God, if Sherlock was a child…and he were dreaming about John and Moriarty and the _Fall_…a child shouldn't have to experience…

"C'mere." She said, patting the space on the bed next to her. He crawled up to her gratefully and scooted closer.

Molly, by some maternal instinct (gender stereotype be damned) pulled him closer to her, wrapping her arms around him to give him a sense of security.

Sherlock buried his face into her chest and soon she could feel the spot get a little damp.

"Want…Jawn…"

Molly pulled him even tighter to her.

* * *

The next morning, Molly woke up to the warm feeling of a small body on top of her, dark curls near her face and calm breathes on her neck from where Sherlock had burrowed his face.

* * *

_A/N: Another small chapter! I am so sorry, my wonderful readers, for not writing a wonderful chapter or updating "How to Keep Your Pathologist". It'll take a while for **HTKYP**, as the only thing I can really write right now is Chibi Sherlock fluff. _

_I'm doing alright, I have another surgery on the 14th, after which I'll be all yours!_

_Now, thank_ you,_ thank you for the wonderful response. I'm sorry if I couldn't thank you personally, so take this chapter, updated much sooner than decided, as a token of my appreciation._

_Much love and thanks to all my reviewers-** MadAsAHatterJayy, Cinnamon Pink, CaptainCat, Zora Arian (All will be revealed love), Emily, amirizar2003, MorbidbyDefault (Want more ginger midgets!), patemalah21,magicstrikes, Catindahat,The GoldenHairedMockingjay, Metal Unicorn and the two guests!**_

_Special love to NoveraDeMedeci, for the cupcakes, flowers and sympathy!_

_See you very soon and hope you review!_

_Adi X_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

After 3 year old Sherlock had thrown a tantrum on what to have for breakfast in the morning, which resulted in Molly getting an epiphany that Sherlock had a soft spot for treacle and coffee in the same cup and that unusual concoction should, by all accounts, be kept waaaay out of reach of the toddler, Mycroft's P.A or 'Anfea' as Sherlock called her arrived with a small suitcase which she presumed contained Sherlock's clothes.

Good thing too, that old tee of hers barely managed to stay on Sherlock's thin shoulders.

Of course Sherlock had to throw another tantrum.

"Don't want to wear! They bad! Mycrwoft is doing thish on purposhe!"

Anthea, as was her real name-sort of, she hesitated before stating it- merely rolled her eyes and continued on typing on her Blackberry. Molly momentarily flared with anger, why on earth was that woman still here if she wasn't going to help stop Sherlock from throwing the contents of Mycroft's briefcase out the window? She noticed Toby under her sofa; her cat had been smart enough to stay out of Sherlock's way and now she wished she had the hindsight to do just that.

"Could you help a bit, please?" Molly asked, struggling to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"Um…No."

"Then why are you still here?"

"This is better than telly!"

Molly would have retorted rather colorfully had Sherlock not chosen the moment to bound into her, shouting, "Molleeeeeeee, don't want these! Mycrwoft mean, get me new clothes!" He looked up at her, eyes widened for extra effect. Ah Sherlock, ever the dramatic victim.

She never could refuse those eyes.

Molly took him in her arms, deciding that it would be the least harmful course of action; Sherlock had already flung what looked like expensive Harrods' clothing over her lampshades.

"I…Alright, but could you wear something a bit _cleaner _for little while so that people don't think I'm neglecting you?"

Sherlock nodded happily, dark curls bouncing, then slid off of her and ran off to find a shirt and shorts.

"Well then, Mr. Holmes told me this would happen, so you will need this." Anthea handed her a credit card, "Also, do make him wear that coat right at the bottom; it looks exactly like his Belstaff. Take pictures for me!" With a wave, she swept from the room much like her employer.

* * *

Molly had to admit, Sherlock looked just absolutely adorable. She had managed to make him wear a plain cotton shirt and black shorts, over which she had put on the tiny Belstaff looking coat. Now he just looked like the older Sherlock in miniature; the only thing missing was the scarf (and the attitude)!

Sherlock, for his part, complained the least when wearing that coat. Molly was certain that in the deep recesses of his brilliant brain, Sherlock had retained his love for that coat, and this one in a rather accurate way, reminded him of it, even if he might not understand the connection at first.

_Maybe that's why he trusts me…_Molly mused as she locked her door, keeping one hand firmly around Sherlock's thin arm.

Molly did not trust Sherlock to walk around on the street, even with her holding his hand she was fairly sure he would slip free and then run off somewhere. And she was also pretty sure Mycroft Holmes would have her head on a platter if that happened.

Which was why she was currently carrying a certain once consulting detective turned three year old down the busy streets of London and he was not very pleased about it.

He squirmed when she got on the bus as well. It seemed that three year old Sherlock had also retained his hatred for public transport, but Molly wasn't having any of it. It was much more efficient and cheaper to travel by bus or the Tube and she wasn't about to spend Mycroft's money anymore than necessary.

"Aw, isn't he just a dear?" An elderly woman sitting across from them cooed, "Is he yours?"

Molly blushed while Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Oh no, I'm just…"

"She isn't mummy, and she isn't my aunt either." Sherlock said, squinting at the old woman.

The woman wasn't deterred by the open hostility in Sherlock's striking eyes, "Alright then, young man, would you tell me who she is?"

Sherlock looked up at Molly next to him, eyes suddenly widening as if he had just now realized that he still didn't know why he trusted her so entirely. Then, suddenly throwing his tiny arms around her waist and snuggling once more into her, he said in a slightly muffled voice, "She's Molly. She's my Molly."

Molly put her arm around his shoulders, a warm tingly feeling suddenly spreading through her, beaming. The woman opposite to them cooed even more.

* * *

An hour of Sherlock being picky about clothes later, Molly was just about to fall flat onto the floor of the store. Sherlock had more or less won over half the kids' department's staff and they were all now cooing at every little lisping thing he said. She wondered when Sherlock would unleash his supposed sociopath tendencies. Maybe, she mused, three year old Sherlock was actually a lovable three year old with the regular tantrums and an impossibly a brilliant brain. Or maybe he was just like his older self and acted charming to get what he wanted. It certainly was working. The store employees had practically gotten every shirt and tees with pirates on them in front of Sherlock.

"Molly, Molly, Molleeeee!"

She sighed and headed towards her charge, and was a bit surprised to find him holding onto a butter yellow jumper wearing teddy.

"Can I have thish?"

It seemed that Sherlock had already laid a claim on it; he was holding it tightly to his chest as though he would never let it go.

Molly smiled, "Of course you can."

Sherlock did a little bounce, "I'll call him John. Look, he's wearing a stupid jumper, that's why I should call him John. I don't know why; though…do you, Mollee?"

Molly felt her heart breaking as she pulled Sherlock into a rib crushing hug.

* * *

_A/N: Hello all once again! Missed you all loads, so the first thing I'm doing since getting back from the hospital is writing about baby Sherlock! I'll be updating my other story soon as well, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter!_

_Much love and thanks (sorry I couldn't thank you all personally) to all those who alerted, faved and reviewed this story! I'm so overwhelmed by the response. Hugs to **amirizar2003, MadAsAHatterJayy, Catindahat, magicstrikes, MelodyHolmes, TheGoldenHairedMockingjay, Zora Arian, patemalah21, MrsBadcrumble18, BMRH, MorbidbyDefault, Lono, Nocturnias and A Pirate By Any Other Name! **_

_Also, a shower of cookies and ice-cream to NoveraDeMedeci, who calls everyday and is the person who keeps me sane while I lie in bed all day!_

_Hope you review and read and continue to be this awesome!_

_Adi x_

_P.S: Sherlock's teddy is the one on the cover._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Much love to NoveraDeMedici for being awesome and the Sherlock to my John._

* * *

Sherlock did not know why he liked Molly so much, he just felt some sort of bond with her. Maybe it was something from back when he was older. In the two days he had stayed with that simple-toon of a brother he had, Mycrwoft had only told him that he had been turned into a three year old and nothing more.

He had flashes of disjointed memories sometimes; each almost a fading dream. He could connect some of them- there was one of an old woman who hugged him and made delicious muffins, a silver-haired man who had this tired look in his eyes…most of all of a sandy haired man who wore jumpers exactly like John, loved tea and seemed to like him. Sherlock was also surprised to find that he had liked that man equally well. He particularly treasured a snippet of memory of the sandy man punching a pudgy man straight in the nose. Why did he like that memory so much? Maybe that man had defended him for some reason.

Then there were those memories of Molly. They really weren't memories…just Molly against a blinding white background, even though she seemed to be wearing different clothes. And those flashes….he couldn't really find any that didn't make him feel bad. Why was that? Molly never made him feel bad. Molly hugged him and let him sleep next to her; she had given him his bear John, she said he was brilliant and played pirates with him when she was not busy writing down things about dead people. He could even bear the kisses she gave him each night; they made him feel warm and safe.

But there was one memory, a crystal clear memory of Molly. It was as if his older self had stored it away with as much care as he had stored the memories of that sandy-haired blue-eyed man.

That memory wasn't particularly _happy,_ every time he remembered that there was first a whooshing sensation as if he was falling…and then darkness…then a scent of lilies that seemed to hang around Molly's hair, and then her big brown eyes looking at him with worry.

Sherlock was smart, so he assumed that he had fallen down somewhere and Molly had patched him up. Because that's what Molly did. Like the time Toby scratched him (he was only trying to play, but apparently, Toby was more stupid than Mycrwoft) she had looked at him with exactly those eyes, worried and scared. And he wasn't even crying then. Molly was a bit weird sometimes.

* * *

Sherlock woke with a jolt. He had dreamed about that scary man with the weird voice again. He did not like that man; even though it had been a dream Sherlock wanted to run away from him, as far as he could. This dream had been worse, the bad man had gotten a bomb strapped around the man who was like John and was going to kill him.

The horrible thing was he wasn't sure it was only a dream or not.

He pulled John closer to him. He wasn't going to cry. He was a big boy now, he was six, or what Mycrwoft told him the last time he visited. He had grown out of most of the clothes Molly had gotten him and she had to get him new ones.

So he was not going to cry and call for Molly. He had already slept in her bed for the last few days and he was not going to let the nightmare get to him.

Because that was all it was. A nightmare.

He couldn't help it. A whimper escaped from him and he pulled John even more closely and snuggled into his blanket, trying to get a sense of security. Trying to believe that the sandy-haired man was alright. And the bad man….or Moriar_tea _was not real.

* * *

Molly had only been going to get a glass of water when she checked on Sherlock where he slept in the guest room. The now six-year-old had wrapped the orange blanket tightly around him, and only John the bear's fluffy arm was sticking out.

Sherlock was shivering.

"Sherlock…Sherlock, sweetheart," Molly didn't even think, Sherlock had been plagued by nightmares lately and it seemed that this night was no different. She crawled into the small bed and wrapped her arms around his shivering form. Sherlock peeked one bright blue eye out through a forest of soft dark curls that hid his face, lowering the ghastly blanket.

"I…I'm fine."

"Hush," Molly whispered, and kissed the top of his head, "It's alright, you're safe now."

"What about that jumper man…?"

Molly's heart went out to the boy, whose lower lip wobbled when she was slow to answer. "He's not dead, is he?" Sherlock said urgently, tiny hands grasping Molly's nightshirt, "Did that bad man with the weird voice kill him?"

"No, no, Sherlock, he's fine. John's absolutely fine."

"John?" Sherlock's brow furrowed, "His name'sh John too?"

Sherlock's lisp wasn't as prominent as it was when he was three, but it tended to rise up when he was distressed or upset.

Molly carded her fingers through Sherlock's hair; it had a calming effect on him. As Sherlock's body relaxed, she said, "Yes, his name's John as well. And he is your best friend."

"My best friend? Really?"

"Mmhmm…and you two were the greatest crime-fighting duo London ever had-"

"Like Batman and Rwobin?"

Molly giggled, "Yes, like Batman and Robin."

Sherlock looked at her with wide eyes, no longer crying and drinking in her every word, "Tell me more about John, please, Molly?"

"Okay, but after that, you will go back sleep, promise?"

Sherlock eased back into his pillows and made sure that his bear was comfortable as well, "Alright."

Molly kissed his cheek before beginning her tale, "Well, John Watson was a brave doctor who went to fight a war…"

* * *

_A/N: There you go, you lovely people you, a new chapter of this fic you all seem to like. I'm only updating so quickly cause I'm an absolute sucker for praise, and you all have been so kind._

_Thank you and much love to all my lovely reviewers- **MadAsAHatterJayy, magicstrikes, patemalah21, Guest, Zora Arian, A Pirate By Any Other Name, MorbidbyDefault, TheGoldenHairedMockingjay, GuEsT, Ssmill, MelodyHolmes, Lono and Lady Nuit!**_

_You all should, if you haven't yet, go read **MorbidbyDefault's** super cute fic "Sherlock Holmes and the case of the Ginger Midgets" which is super fluffy and partly inspired me for this fic!_

_Also, if you like Inu Yasha, my best friend **fiction-from-my-mind** has written a few. So please, check out hers as well!_

_Now, any suggestions for me? What would you like to see baby/kid Sherlock do next? Also, I would just love a beta for this fic, another pair of eyes are always appreciated. I would love your opinion, so be sure to leave a review!_

_Love,_

_Adi x_


	6. Chapter 6

AAAB 6

* * *

As soon as Sherlock had fallen back to sleep, a serene smile on his face with his bear tucked close to him, Molly quietly slid out of bed and padded across the room. Locating her mobile, she dialed the number Mycroft had given her some days previous, a result of Sherlock throwing a major tantrum in one of the busiest shopping centers of the city; a tantrum which resulted in Sherlock spewing out state secrets his older self wasn't supposed to know and his younger self wasn't supposed to remember.

It never occurred to Molly Hooper that it was 3 in the morning.

It also never occurred to her that Mycroft might have given her his _own_mobile number, a number only selected few- that only a selected few of the most _illustrious_circle- had.

"Ms. Hooper," said a voice laced with sleep yet managing to sound as regal as ever, "I trust Sherlock hasn't managed to set any important buildings on fire that you insist on disturbing my sleep?"

"Oh! I…er…I'm so sorry Mr. Holmes, it's just that…um…Sherlock's been having nightmares again." There was silence at the other end and Molly took it as an invitation to continue, "And well…It's the fifth one in three days; he's barely getting any sleep…I'm worried."

There was a slight pause on the opposite end of the line before Mycroft answered. "Well, I think it's safe to say the drug is wearing off. I was hoping for a more gradual-"

Molly cut him off. "Wearing off? You mean Sherlock will age a few years again?"

"No Ms. Hooper. While one hopes in these sort of cases that the change is gradual-" Molly wondered how many of "these sort of cases" did Mycroft even deal with- "Sherlock's physicality is as rebellious as he is. The change will be instantaneous."

Molly brightened a bit at this. Sherlock would certainly want to get back to normal as quickly as possible, she was certain. "That's great isn't it? He'll change back quickly-"

She was cut off by Mycroft who nipped her small relief in the bud. "I assure you Ms. Hooper, that while I have no wish for you to have to tolerate Sherlock in his teenage years, a slower growth would have been less painful for him. These instantaneous changes bring about the convulsions of the most hateful kind…"

Molly felt her stomach drop. "Wait…you said instantaneous. Does that mean he'll just go BAM and turn into a thirty six year old in front of me?"

Mycroft's voice took an almost amused tone – at least as amused as one can be when discussing the painful transformation of one's little brother at 3 in the morning. "Most changes come about at night, so you'll need to ensure that Sherlock's wearing his larger clothes…to avoid any…embarrassing circumstances."

Molly opened her mouth to answer but a sudden startled cry from Sherlock's room made her hang up on the British Government.

She quickly crawled into the bed again and had her arms around the sobbing toddler within seconds.

* * *

_The next morning…_

"Why are we at the park, Molly?" Sherlock asked, licking the pistachio ice cream Molly had bought him. Trust Sherlock to pick the one flavor no six year in their right mind would pick. But then again Sherlock was no ordinary six year old.

Molly had decided to have some sort of fun with six year old Sherlock before he got back to his normal age; she had been the youngest of three and always wanted a younger sibling. "Why do you ask? Can't I take you to the park on a whim?"

"No…Mycrwoft said that I should be inside more…after that time at the mall…" Sherlock trailed off, obviously remembering the trouble he'd caused.

Molly immediately jumped to his defense. "Sherlock you couldn't help that! And it's unhealthy to stay indoors for so long!"

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully; giving the steadily melting ice-cream cone another little lick. His green eyes settled on the playground.

"Would you like to go play?" Molly asked, smiling at the boy.

Sherlock made a scoffing noise that would have made his older self very proud, "I don't _play__._"

"Oh," Molly said, brain cogs whirring for a while before adding, "Well…do you want to go experiment?"

"'Speriment?" Sherlock repeated, eyes widening, "How can I do that here?"

Molly tried to hide a smile. "Well, you could go see how quickly a boy of your weight can slide down that slide," Molly said, and that was all it took. Sherlock ran off in the direction of the playground, handing Molly his nearly finished ice-cream. Molly chuckled softly before going over to sit at one of the benches next to the playground, more than content to watch Sherlock play or _experiment._

"Hello," said the blonde haired wisp of a woman whom Molly had sat next to. "Is he yours?" she asked, nodding in Sherlock's direction.

Molly smiled at her- something about her just exuded kindness- and said, "Oh no, I'm just his aunt." It was a lie Mycroft had asked her to repeat, deeming it easier for Molly to pass Sherlock off as her nephew rather than her son.

"Oh, he's very cute. I do love children." She paused, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, and then blushed. "I'm sorry. You must think me some sort of freak," the woman said, smiling apologetically at her.

"It's alright!" Molly laughed, "I'm Molly Hooper, nice to meet you." She extended her hand.

The woman took it. "I'm Mary. Mary Morstan. The pleasure is all mine."

"Is your kid here as well?" Molly gestured towards the playground, where Sherlock was currently dangling off upside-down on the monkey bars. Molly was momentarily worried, but then she remembered Sherlock's natural born dexterity.

"Oh! I'm just a babysitter! I don't have any children."

The way she said it told Molly that she would absolutely love children. She noticed Mary's ring finger had the tan line of a ring- she must have been engaged once. She had been around Sherlock far too long to not pick up some tips.

* * *

Molly found that Mary Morstan was very good company. Even though they didn't actually know each other, Molly quickly realized that Mary was a being after her own heart, apart from the being-a-pathologist-who-helped-the consulting-detective-fake-his-death bit.

So when Mary got up to leave, her charge, a five year old sweet little girl called Amanda, latching onto her hand and giving Molly a dazzling smile, Molly actually felt regret.

Mary gave Molly her number. The two women beamed at each other; knowing a good person and a good friend-in-the-making when they saw one.

As Mary walked away, Molly cast her eyes over the playground.

Her blood ran cold.

Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

Oh Mycroft was going to kill her.

* * *

_A/N: Dun dun de dun...Hehehe, Just felt like leaving it there. Anyways, thank you so very much to all those who faved, alerted and reviewed- **magicstrikes, Zora Arian, MorbidByDefault, MadAsAHatterJay, GuEsT, whytejigsaw, Lono, Someone who wants a Fez, The GoldenHairedMockingJay and Beth-Tauri Chick!**_

_****Thanks a bunch to **A Pirate by Any Other Name** for being such a wonderful beta!_

_Lastly, lots of love to **NoveraDeMedeci**, for being awesome and kickass and fuelling my ideas._

_Review and much love,_

_Adi x_


	7. Chapter 7

As Above As Below 7

* * *

Molly bit back the scream that was threatening to form and forced herself to think rationally. She said goodbye to Mary about a minute ago. She had last checked on Sherlock three minutes ago and he had been focused on something in the sandpit. How far could a six year old go in the course of approximately four minutes?

Molly tried not to think that Sherlock was anything but a regular six year old. She checked the playground thoroughly, making sure he was not just hiding somewhere near the slide or the obstacle course. She was just about to panic when she spotted John the teddy lying underneath a particularly tall oak. She all but ran there, scooping up the teddy in her arm, eyes darting here and there searching for Sherlock. A snap of twigs high above her caused her to look up sharply.

"Sherlock!" she hissed as soon as she spotted the six-year-old once consulting detective three or four branches above her; moving along the branch with feline grace. She would have shouted but she didn't want to startle him and cause him to lose his balance.

The boy glanced at her dispassionately. "Hullo Molly." He refocused on the object in front of him; moving stealthily along the branch once more.

"How on earth did you get up there?" Molly said with increasing impatience. "And what are you doing?"

"Looking at bees, you should come up too. The tree's easy to climb," he said, pausing to look down at her, legs swinging beneath him as he sat down.

"Bees?" Molly asked, hoping that Sherlock hadn't found a hive up there.

"Yeah, there's a hive up here. Can I take it home with me?" He blinked his pale blue eyes, but Molly was having none of it.

She put her hands on her hips. "No, you can't take a _hive_ home, Sherlock, now get down!"

"Make me." Sherlock declared, standing precariously on the branch, one arm holding the tree trunk for balance.

"_Sherlock Holmes, you get down this instance before I call your brother__,"_ Molly said in her most authoritative voice.

Sherlock snorted, "I'm not afraid of Mycrwoft."

Molly released a breath, "Alright then. Stay up there. I was going to let you watch Doctor Who tonight, but-" _Snap!_ Molly's reflexes acted on their own accord, snatching Sherlock's small body out of the air before he could crash to the ground. "Oh God, Sherlock, are you alright?" Molly asked nervously, holding him close to her and feeling him for injuries. Her frustration with his petulant behavior from earlier vanished.

"Yeah…I…uh…I did that on purpose. I knew you would catch me." Sherlock said, but clutching at Molly's coat regardless. She could feel his heart racing.

"Really? You did that on purpose?" Molly raised her eyebrows and moved away from the tree, with Sherlock in one arm and the bear tucked under another.

"It was the fastest way to get down." Sherlock glanced back forlornly at the bee-hive before saying, "Now can we get home and watch Doctor Who?"

Molly laughed and Sherlock grinned. He said, "But next time, I'll take the bees home with me."

"Why do you like bees so much?" Molly asked with interest. She hadn't known about this before. She was learning lots of things about the mysterious man she'd loved for so long.

"When I grow up, I'll be a pirate bee-keeper!" Sherlock declared, his face lighting up with glee. Molly beamed at him. "Sure ove, but what about being a detective?"

Molly nearly laughed at the way Sherlock scrunched up his tiny face in concentration. "Oh, that…" Sherlock said, "Can't I be all three? I'll be a detective at night and a pirate bee-keeper by day!" He smiled at her, proud at finding a solution.

Molly laughed and nodded; though there was a pang in her heart when she realized she wouldn't have this young lovable Sherlock, the Sherlock who hugged her and at times cuddled up next to her, for much longer. "Molly, are you alright?" Sherlock said, squirming in her arms until she let him down from her arms. He automatically held her hand though.

"What do you mean, love?" Molly said, trying to banish her sadness.

"Well, you got all thoughtful…and your eyes went distant and you weren't smiling anymore." She forgot who she was dealing with sometimes. "I like it when you smile, Molly. It's pretty." He said, a flush coloring his high cheekbones.

Molly stopped and lowered herself to his level (It was head spinning sometimes; looking down at those eyes.) and kissed his cheeks. "You will grow up soon, Sherlock, Mycroft said so last night."

"So?" Sherlock stated, as though he didn't see the problem.

"So," Molly said, covering his tiny, thin hands with hers, "I'll miss you. You'll go away when you are back to your normal size."

"No I won't," Sherlock said confidently, "I'll stay with you."

"And who'll fight the bad guys?" Molly said, biting her cheek to keep from laughing. He really was so sweet like this.

Sherlock thought for a while before answering with pride, "I'll take you with me then. We can be heroes together!"

"Really?" Molly asked, bemused and hoping someone would video tape this Sherlock and show it to the older one.

"Yeah! I'll be the pirate king and I'll need a queen! You can be her, you're much smarter than a lot of girls!"

"Alright, then, Your Royal Pirate-ness!" Molly said, standing up and taking Sherlock's hand once more. "Will you take your Queen home now?"

"We'll need a ship's doctor too!" Sherlock said, happily skipping along with her, "We can take John; after I get bigger, I'll ask him to join us and he won't be so sad anymore!"

Molly's heart clenched. "Yes…we should do that. John would love that very much."

His looks of such blissful happiness made Molly's heart just…ache.

* * *

_Later_

Molly curled up on the couch, cup of tea in hand and more than ready to relax after the hectic night before and the excitable day. Sherlock was still a bundle of endless energy; except this time he had taken up the sonic screwdriver replica Molly had and was brandishing it around the room; claiming it to be more useful than a pirate's cutlass. Molly watched him gambol around the room, alternatively talking to John the bear in all seriousness and with a frightening resemblance to his older self to the real John. She was just getting comfortable when the bell rang. Wondering who on earth it could be and more or less expecting Mycroft, she buzzed the intercom. "Hello?"

"_Molly, hi, it's me Greg. You know, Greg Lestrade. Mind if I come up__?"_

* * *

_A/N: I don't feel bad at all for the cliffhanger again. And maybe the fact that this week has been all about Doctor Who is kinda showing in my fic :P Anyway, much love to all those who read, alerted, faved and reviewed- **magicstrikes, GuEsT, Lucy36, Lady Nuit, MorbidbyDefault, friend2friend1, Ssmill, Beth-TauriChick, Lono, Zora Arian and 173'dliketobe167!** I wish I could thank you all personally, but this week has been rather hectic and...disappointing._

_Much love and lots of thanks to my lovely beta **A Pirate By Any Other Name! **Also, lots of love to **NoveraDeMedeci!**_

_****Now go and show love to my other fics (self advertising!)_

_Thanks for reading and hope you review!_

_love,_

_Adi x_


	8. Chapter 8

**As Above As Below 8**

* * *

"_Molly, hi, it's me Greg. Greg Lestrade, can I come up?"_

Molly, on reflex and a tiny bit of utter stupidity, said, "Yeah, sure, Greg, I'll buzz you in," before her brain could catch up with her mouth. Then it hit her hard like a stack of bricks. And also, Sherlock was glaring at her.

"I thought Mycrwoft said it'll be better if you don't have visitors now." He clutched John the bear tighter, giving Molly a look that made her feel absolutely ashamed.

Molly bit her lip. "It's alright, Sherlock, it's not a visitor. It's a…um…anyway, you need to hide, can you do that for me?"

Sherlock stamped his foot on the ground stubbornly, dark curls bouncing, "No, why should I hide?"

The bell rang and there was a knock on the door. Molly glanced anxiously back at it. "Sherlock, sweetheart, please, just hide in my bedroom for a couple of minutes?" Molly begged as Lestrade knocked more insistently on the door. _Must be urgent,_ Molly mused to herself, already ushering the scowling child into her bedroom. "After he leaves," Molly promised Sherlock, "I'll play the Doctor with you."

Sherlock's eyes brightened and he sat down gingerly on her bed, busying himself with the bear. Another bell rang and Molly more or less (after making sure that the door to her bedroom wasn't ajar) wrenched it open to find Lestrade about to knock once more. The DI gave her a weary smile, "I was beginning to worry."

Molly smiled tentatively back at him. "I was…er…just trying to make my place look less of a dump. My nephew's over, so…"

Lestrade raised his eyebrows as Molly stepped back to let him in, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were busy-"

"Oh no, it's fine," Molly cut across him, "Martin's just gone to bed, and I was just about to make some tea. Would you like some?"

"Yes, please," Lestrade said sitting down on the sofa after removing one of Sherlock's sharper experiments.

* * *

"So, Molly, how have you been?" the DI asked as Molly handed him a steaming mug. "I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Oh you know…just been a bit busy…" Molly said nervously, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Busy? Is that why you stopped coming to Bart's?" He took a hearty swig of his tea and raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

Molly blushed scarlet; she didn't realize anyone would miss her at Bart's. After Sherlock went and got himself turned into a toddler, Mycroft requested (after a disastrous attempt of leaving Sherlock at a daycare) that she take a few months off. He guaranteed that she would still have her job; she would still get her monthly paycheck and everything. Molly had agreed because she was dreadfully in need of a break as well. Sherlock took up nearly all her time now.

"I took a leave of absence." Molly said to the DI, carefully avoiding his eyes. "I needed a break."

"Oh, okay." Lestrade took a sip of tea, "Have you heard from John?"

"He hasn't contacted me ever since he joined the _Medecins Sans Frontieres. _He could be somewhere in Africa now."

"He said he would keep in touch with me too," Lestrade said thoughtfully, "But he hasn't kept that promise."

The last Molly saw of John Watson, he wasn't too pleasantly disposed to the DI. John took Lestrade's attempt to arrest Sherlock (even though he had been under orders) as a form of betrayal and part of the chain of events that led to his supposed suicide. She didn't say that to him now though. That would only serve to hurt him further. Judging by the grey hair and the new wrinkles that creased his face, she could tell that Greg Lestrade hadn't taken Sherlock's fall that well either.

Trying to keep Lestrade from sinking into morbid thoughts—he looked like he was about to—Molly grabbed his free hand and said, "Alright Greg, come now. Tell me what's going on with you nowadays."

Lestrade tightened his hand around hers. "Well…I got demoted to desk sergeant and my wife finally filed for divorce."

Oh God. This was not what Molly had in mind. "Greg, I'm so sorry." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Anything I can do?"

Lestrade suddenly looked her in the eyes; she nearly reared back at the intensity of his gaze. "You know, Molly, I've always wondered—" He started but got interrupted by a certain supremely annoyed six-year-old.

"'S'trade, you moron." Sherlock said scowling, arms crossed and for once not carrying the bear.

Molly's heart started racing immediately, "Sh—Martin, you are supposed to be in bed!"

"Well, hello there." Lestrade started good-naturedly, he evidently hadn't heard what Sherlock said before. Molly started praying to whatever god was out there that the once DI didn't realize the resemblance; though there was absolutely no chance of him actually thinking that this six-year-old was Sherlock.

Sherlock came closer, ignoring the urgent flapping Molly was doing behind Lestrade's back. He squeezed himself into the tiny smidge of space between Molly and Lestrade and then inched closer to Molly, all the while glaring at Lestrade. Lestrade tried again, though he seemed a bit unnerved, "Hi Martin, I'm Greg-"

The surly toddler cut him off. "My name's not Martin."

Lestrade threw a confused look at Molly. She rushed in to save herself and hopefully Sherlock. "He's joking of course! He just likes pretending to be the Doctor, you know, from Doctor Who!" Molly wrapped an arm around Sherlock and squeezed him, hard. Not hard enough to hurt him, just enough so he would stop talking.

Lestrade put on a big grin, the kind all adults reserve for small children. "Really? Wow, isn't that nice?"

"You can't have her." Sherlock said, still glaring daggers at the poor ex-DI.

"What do you mean, Martin?" both Lestrade and Molly asked simultaneously, Molly trying to hide the blush that reached the roots of her hair.

"You can't have her," Sherlock repeated, "She's mine."

And with that he snuggled closer to her; she carded her fingers through his hair, a smile growing on her face. Lestrade smiled, "He must love you a lot."

Molly's blush deepened. "Oh…um…yes, I'm his only aunt-"

"You're my only Molly." Sherlock said from somewhere near her stomach.

Lestrade cast Molly a look and said, "Well, I'd best be off. It looks like he needs you to fall asleep." He stood up, Molly standing up with him, Sherlock trailing along after her, holding onto the hem of her blouse. "We should meet up for coffee sometime," Lestrade said, ruffling Sherlock's hair a bit. It was a miracle he didn't bite. "Bye, Molly."

Molly smiled. "See you later Greg."

The moment the door closed behind him, Sherlock looked up at Molly and said quite plainly, "He's an idiot. He had no idea who I was!"

"Oh Sherlock," Molly said exasperatedly, "We are not all as smart as you."

* * *

Molly woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of a harsh scream coming from Sherlock's room. She threw her bedclothes off and ran towards him, nearly slipping on one of the toy pirate swords Sherlock had left discarded in the hallway.

"Sherlock, are you alright?!" She shouted as she ran into his room. What she saw left no room for doubt what was happening.

Sherlock was writhing on the bed; his small frame nearly drowning in the large clothes Molly had dressed him in (as per Mycroft's orders). As she watched, Sherlock screamed hoarsely, "Molly! It hurts! Make it stop!"

She should call Mycroft; he would know what to do. She should really call Mycroft but Sherlock-

"Molly!"

She forgot what she was supposed to do and quickly climbed onto the bed with him. Sherlock was drenched in sweat as Molly ran her hands over him. Pulling him closer to her, she rocked him gently. Sherlock's small hands grabbed at her night-shirt, clutching at her like a drowning person to a life raft.

He started to convulse violently, head thrown back on the pillow as his body arched. Molly pulled him tighter to her, holding his body so that he didn't break any bones. In the process she nearly got rocked off the bed but managed to keep her balance at the very edge.

Sherlock's body stopped contorting all of a sudden. Molly released a sigh of relief as he started calming down, maybe he wasn't going to transform and whatever fit he had had must be over (note to self: ask Mycroft for childhood illnesses). She could have a few more days with this appreciative Sherlock-

Before she knew what was happening, she hit the floor hard with a fully grown Sherlock Holmes right on top of her.

* * *

_A/N: Oooh and here we go! Thanks for all the lovely favs, alerts and reviews everyone, they honestly make my day- **Lady Nuit, magicstrikes, Emily, MadAsAHatterJayy, Lucy36, Ssmill, Empress Of Verace, barus, the GoldenHaired Mockingjay, MorbidByDefault, Lono, syNemYoa, lililoop, Totally Sherlock and the guests!** Can't tell you guys how much I appreciate you guys taking the time to review!_

_Much love to my beta, **A Pirate By Any Other Name**, for being an absolute grammar angel!_

_Hope you guys like this chapter and I'll see you very soon *Mycroft voice*_

_love and review please!_

_Adi x_


	9. Chapter 9

**As Above As Below 9**

* * *

Molly's first thought was that Sherlock weighed more than he looked like he should weigh. He was practically crushing her to the floor and he wasn't making any move to _get off of her._ She could feel his steady breathing on the side of her neck, his curls were tickling the area under her jaw and their legs had gotten entwined.

Alright, as much as she was sort of enjoying this close proximity to a fully grown Sherlock, this whole situation was the furthest from romance as possible. Plus—Sherlock was restricting her ability to breathe properly.

"Sherlock," she said insistently, attempting to crawl out from under him. It didn't work. She moved with much more urgency now, giving him a hard push.

Sherlock groaned and rolled off of her and onto his back. His eyes were closed and he had started to pant, taking shallow sips of air. Molly bent over him, touching his forehead which was damp with perspiration. She managed to raise his head off of the floor and onto her lap; deciding to keep the other side of her, the really meek-and-infatuated-with-Sherlock side of her under wraps for once. She ran her fingers through his hair like she used to when he was a child and needed to be calmed down, but this time more hesitantly. Sherlock moaned, making her jump, and snapped open his eyes. His pupils were dilated; just a thin sliver of blue-grey was visible.

He jolted upright, nearly bashing heads with Molly, who had the sense to rear back quickly. His hands started scrambling in an attempt to grab hold of something—the way he was moving, so utterly clumsy was not at all like the old Sherlock, graceful and poised. It seemed that he was trying to get used to having longer limbs again. "Here, Sherlock let me-" Molly started, bracing Sherlock's back by putting her arm around his shoulders. Or at least she tried to.

Sherlock immediately jerked away from her grip, "No, I'm-" He started to say hoarsely, before clearing his throat, "I'm fine." His voice sounded unused, the normally deep baritone sounding as if he had a bad cold.

He grabbed onto the side of the bed, pulling himself up. Molly stood up along with him, hovering near him, in case he fell. She didn't like the way he was being wobbly. Her precaution wasn't wasted. The moment Sherlock had pulled himself to his full height, towering over Molly, his legs gave way. Molly grabbed at him, more or less managing to hold him upright by ducking under his arm and making him lean on her. Sherlock groaned pitifully again.

"Should I call Mycroft? I think he would know what to do," Molly said tentatively, worry gnawing at her belly. Surely there wouldn't be any after effects of being turned into a toddler? But then again, it wasn't exactly a tested science. Who knew what Sherlock would go through?

Sherlock scoffed, something that relieved Molly a bit. He would be fine if he still had the ability to be a stubborn little brother. "Change…" Sherlock muttered as Molly lowered him down on the bed.

Molly, who had been busy thinking about how she could call Mycroft, didn't quite hear. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The clothes…too tight…change," Sherlock said, panting. Molly blushed; the loose clothes she had to fit the six year old Sherlock had belonged to her younger brother, and they were a bit too tight on Sherlock. A bit tight as in Molly, if she had the sense of mind, would have blushed at how the t-shirt was all but a second skin on him.

"Oh, um…yes. Let me get an old shirt of yours." She left him reclining on the bed, hoping that she still had some of the expensive shirts he had left behind all those months ago.

* * *

"Uh…Molly?" Sherlock's questioning voice came from behind the closed door. Molly, who had left him to his own devices after he had glared at her—it was transparent that he wanted to change in private (she had no idea what had gotten into him, this was the man who merely a few months ago had walked around nearly naked in _her bloody bedroom)_—eased the door open tentatively to find him standing next to the bed on firmer legs than before.

However, the only thing that actually made an effect on Molly's brain was that Sherlock had left his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his very fit, very _adult_ chest. Molly didn't realize she was staring until he cleared his throat. Her eyes snapped up to his, and she blushed to the roots of her hair. "Y-Yes?"

"Would you mind…uh, I can't seem to stop my fingers from shaking," Sherlock said, a flush coloring his high cheekbones a light pink.

Molly bit her lip then smiled at him shyly. She could understand that Sherlock wasn't really used to asking for help, and the fact that he had managed to bend his pride enough to ask her for help warmed her to the tips of her toes. She buttoned his shirt up slowly, suddenly unable to look up at him _or_ stop her fingers from shaking.

She finally looked up at him when she finished buttoning the last one. She frowned a bit; Sherlock had a pained expression on his face. "Sherlock," Molly started to ask him what was wrong but before she knew what was happening, Sherlock tumbled into her, knocking her right back into the door of her wardrobe, him almost colliding with her if he hadn't thrown his arms in front of him.

Molly suddenly found it hard to breathe. Sherlock's arms were caging her body and he was _oh so close_. "I…Sherlock," Molly swallowed, realizing that they were breathing the same air now.

His lips crashed to hers in a fury, barely waiting for her mouth to open under his as his tongue swept past her lips, delving and exploring. One of his hands found purchase in her hair, tugging it just the right way to make her gasp and dig her fingers into his hair. He groaned now, pushing her farther into the wood behind her. He pulled his lips away from hers and burned a hot path down her neck and raked his teeth onto her collar bone.

"_Sherlock…"_ she moaned as he sucked on a particular spot on her neck that made her see stars.

And suddenly, he was gone; Molly opened her eyes, missing his warmth. "Sherlock?" she asked again, not really knowing what was happening.

Sherlock looked pale, and Molly was just starting to wonder, horribly, that he really regretted anything that happened between them when—

He vomited right on her slippers.

* * *

_A/N: Like I said to my lovely beta **A Pirate By Any Other Name** and **NoveraDeMedeci, **THAT my dear readers, is why Sherlock never gets a leg over._

_HOLY MOTHER OF GODTISS, YOU GUYS! LET ME LOVE YOU! YOU MADE ME WRITE AND UPDATE FASTER!The last chapter became my most reviewed one and let me tell you, it made a hideous week so much better! I hope I managed to thank all you lovely people- **Empress Of Verace, Lono, Ssmill, Lucy36, MadAsAHatterJayy, Don't Fade Away, nhauyen, MorbidByDefault, patemalah21, whytejigsaw, lililoop, Biffy316, UnifiedNations, lostmypen120, Lady Nuit, suki2618, magicstrikes, barus, syNemYoa, Beth-TauriChick, Mivida Garcia, hermione draco holmes, SammyKatz, lvPayne, daisherz265, hermione-amelia-rose1479, friend2friend1, 173'dliketobe167 and the guests!**_

_Sorry if the chapter seems too short, but it seemed like a good place to stop :P and thank you for reading, faving, alerting and reviewing!_

_Review some more? Makes my day, sweethearts! (and Benedict Cumberbatch in uniform~~~~)_

_See you very soon,_

_Love,_

_Adi x_


	10. Chapter 10

**As Above As Below 10**

* * *

"Molly."

"It's fine."

"No, Molly, I..."

"Sherlock, it's fine."

"Molly, I need coffee."

Molly took a deep breath and resisted the urge to run out of the bathroom and throw something heavy at him. She spied her reflection on the mirror. Her lips were swollen and there was a small mark on the side of her neck. She sighed, and then looked at her poor slippers in the bin. There was no way she could ever wear those again.

When she got out of the bathroom, all changed, refreshed and suddenly feeling apprehensive, Sherlock was sprawled on her couch, though he seemed to look a lot better. His face was a lot less pale, for one, and his breathing was normal again. "Better now?" Molly asked, summoning the courage to look at him. He bolted upright, almost as if he was chagrined to show any weakness (for God's sakes, he had just thrown up on her!) and nodded.

"I informed Mycroft," he said. "Didn't really want to, but I decided that it would do to tell that fat git that his mistake has been rectified. Could I get some coffee?"

Molly, who had just sunk down absent mindedly onto her armchair, snapped her eyes on him, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Coffee," Sherlock repeated. "I need coffee. Tea would suffice, but coffee would be heavenly, since apparently I haven't had coffee for two months."

Molly twirled a stray lock of brown hair around her fingers as she got up, "How much do you remember…?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Not much. It's a bit of a nuisance; it seems my child self did not have the sensibility to store everything in his—my mind palace," He paused, took a deep breath then continued, "As far as I'm annoyed that I now have two months of no recollections, it is for the best. I don't need to have unnecessary additional 'childhood' memories to go through and erase."

Molly paused in the process of adding sugar to the coffee (black, two sugars—she hadn't forgotten) and tried not to feel too hurt. This was Sherlock, she reasoned, he wasn't one for sentiments. Of course he wouldn't regret losing those memories. Those memories were for her to cherish alone. The thought made her feel awfully lonely.

* * *

"I have hurt you," Sherlock stated quite plainly as Molly handed him a steaming mug. "Was it something I said?"

"You did just kiss me then throw up on me," she countered feebly.

"Ah, yes, that. Most probably the sudden flood of hormones. I did skip the teenage years," Sherlock said briskly.

Molly would have appreciated an apology for being manhandled, but for the life of her she couldn't bring herself to reprimand him. She was hurt, of course, but experience had prepared her for such an outcome. At the very least, she could have the memory of being able to kiss those beautiful Cupid's bow lips.

Sherlock was still looking at her with that piercing gaze. Then, seeming to come to a decision, he said, "Come here, Molly," gesturing towards the seat next to him. Molly frowned at him, puzzled, but complied. The moment she sat down, Sherlock laid his head right across her lap and she squeaked. "What?" Sherlock's brow furrowed.

Molly swallowed and then asked, "What are you doing?"

Sherlock's eyebrows rose. "Oh yes. Would you mind doing that thing you were doing with your fingers through my hair? There's a good girl." And with that, he took Molly's hand without so much as a by-your-leave and treaded them through his curls.

Molly's fingers hesitantly curled through his hair and he pouted (bloody pouted like the six year old he was barely four hours ago). "You don't have to be so stingy with your touch Molly," Sherlock said with a slight whine to his voice.

In retaliation, Molly more or less buried her hand into his hair, and tugged slightly while using her nails to scratch a path through his scalp, as she had when he had kissed her. Sherlock purred, not unlike Toby when she petted him, though Sherlock's purring—in that deep velvety voice of his—was much more pleasurable to hear.

"Fascinating, dear brother," said a cold voice from the mouth of the hallway. "Have you turned into a cat this time?"

* * *

Molly squeaked and jumped, accidentally hitting Sherlock on the forehead with her elbow. Sherlock scowled at his brother, sitting upright and rubbing the sore spot.

"Ho-how did you get i-in…?" Molly asked Mycroft, who seemed to be severely nonchalant for someone who had just entered a house by less than lawful means.

"He had a spare key made, obviously," Sherlock answered her, not pausing in his glare marathon.

Mycroft twirled the umbrella in hand elegantly before sitting on Molly's armchair. "I take it you remember most things, then?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, but it wasn't a difficult leap. You always were a bit of a sneak."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Ah well. But I think Ms. Hooper," he glanced at Molly in a manner that she didn't really like, "Is a bit…disappointed."

"What?" Molly blurted, turning a very interesting shade of red.

"Why would she be disappointed?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows at his brother. Molly realized that the Holmes' brothers had a rather annoying habit of talking about someone right in front of them and not paying attention to the fact that they were _sitting right there._

"Oh no matter," Mycroft said regally. "Will you be joining us at once?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes of course, is everything ready?"

"Ready?" Molly interjected quickly. "What do you mean ready? Are you leaving _now_ Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked at her, "Obviously. I haven't been on the case for nearly six months, no doubt Moriarty's web as grown more widespread. If I am to clear my name, it's best if I get back to work quickly."

Molly knew that what he said made sense (of course it did) but she still objected, "You were sick just a few moments ago, how can you just-"

Mycroft cut across her, "I assure you Ms. Hooper, there will be no long term effects; even if there is, my brother is in more capable hands than that of a pathologist."

"Mycroft!" Sherlock hissed, displaying a surprising level of concern. The last time Sherlock had looked at his brother like that, Mycroft had told Mrs. Hudson to shut up.

Mycroft's eyebrows made a beeline for his hairline. "Interesting. Well, I'll be in the car. Good…day, Ms. Hooper."

After the British Government had exited the flat, Sherlock was a bundle of energy, grabbing the duffel bag Mycroft had dropped near the door and leaving the room to change. Molly sat there, trying to process what the hell had just happened.

Sherlock was going to leave. After all those months of looking after him, he was going away, without a second thought. She knew that the sooner he tracked down the web, the sooner he could come back. That's all that should matter, really. Then why she so sad? It was selfish of her, to want Sherlock to stay, to want the smaller Sherlock back, the one who appreciated her, the one who used to carry a teddy bear, and the one who would insist on being the Doctor in their games…

* * *

Sherlock exited his room, all suited up and dressed in his trademark Belstaff. Molly stared; she couldn't help it, it had been such a long time since she last saw him like that, the Sherlock of old, his eyes on fire with the thrill of the chase.

Unbidden, a thought of the three year old Sherlock, looking so smug in the mini Belstaff look-alike Anthea had got him, flashed in her mind.

"Molly, I'll be going then."

She jumped out of her reverie and went to stand next to him. "When will you be back?"

He shrugged. "I can't say. Depends really."

"Oh." Unable to think of anything to say, Molly forced herself to smile at him.

Sherlock's eyes softened, "Th-Thank you for…everything, Molly."

Molly bit her lip. "Wait just a mo."

She scampered off and Sherlock stared after her, nonplussed. When she came back, she was clutching the model sonic screwdriver in her hand. She slid it into the inner pockets of the great coat and said, "Keep this. As a sort of…token."

Sherlock kept on looking at her and Molly suddenly went red. "As in, well, I'm keeping the bear you used to play with, you don't remember, you used to play with that as well, and I want you to keep that-"

Sherlock leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Molly Hooper." And then he was gone.

* * *

"Why did you lie?" Mycroft asked as the car drove through a London that was just waking up. Sherlock scowled at his brother but didn't answer. "The drug doesn't cause memory loss; you should remember everything that happened to you while you were a child. Why did you lie to Molly Hooper?" Sherlock remained silent.

"Ah yes," Mycroft said smugly, "Didn't want to have to hurt her feelings, so you decided to absolutely smash her heart," he chuckled, "You really are my brother."

"I didn't want to!" Sherlock shouted indignantly, "If she knew that I remembered everything, everything I said, that I _meant_ everything I said, she wouldn't have let me go! And I…I…"

"Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. You and I…we aren't meant to have what other ordinary people let themselves have. If we did, we would cease to be the two brilliant minds that we are and decrease to the standards of the masses." Mycroft paused. "It's better if you just…delete her."

For once in his life, Sherlock wondered whether his brother had a point.

* * *

_A/N: Hello! So here we are, new chappie! Sorry it took so long; damn life got in the way! I'm sorry for not replying to all your lovely reviews, but I can absolutely tell you how much they made my day! Thank you for the favs, follows and reviews-** magicstrikes , Lucy36 , MadAsAHatterJayy , LoryLily, whytejigsaw, Empress Of Verace, lulu, lililoop, lostmypen120, daisherz236, nhaquyen, syNemYoa, MorbidByDefault, Alice Hollow, Beth-Tauri Chick, SammyKatz, Unified Nations, Supahninjagirl, Sherlockreader starshortcake, Hermione-amelia-rose, Ssmill, Lono, princeofthefallingangels, MissplacedHyperQuill, Jess-Stark-Lover Of Downey Jr and friend2friend1!**_

_Lots of love to my beta **A Pirate By Any Other Name** and also to **NoveraDeMedeci**!_

_Hope you like this chapter and please review, makes my day!_

_Love,_

_Adi x_


	11. Chapter 11

**As Above As Below 11**

* * *

Molly Hooper was doing great. She was this close to getting promoted; she had finally had enough time to renovate her flat and Toby had managed to get himself a little litter. Molly herself had started dating again, meeting new people. None of the men she dated could even come close to a certain someone though. In that regard, Molly Hooper was still stuck in the same bog.

Other than that though, she was fine. Absolutely, positively fine.

_It had been six months since he had been gone and nearly five months since the visions started when his younger self interrupted one of her American crime-drama marathons._

"You're talking to yourshelf again, Mollee." A small voice said from the seat next to her. She jerked her head around and saw three-year-old Sherlock, the light of the television casting his small face into unnatural shadows.

Molly sighed. "What are you doing here?"

The boy shrugged. "I dunno. Watching telly?"

"No," Molly said, not unkindly, "I mean…You are not real. You're in my head."

Sherlock sighed in a rather grown-up way. "Jusht because I'm in your head…why can't I be real?"

Molly rolled her eyes, returning her gaze to the mindless drivel blaring on the television and said, "I shouldn't have read Harry Potter to you." When she looked back at him, he was gone.

* * *

_Nearly a year since he had been gone now…_

"Another ice-cream! Molly, really!"

Molly resisted the urge to scream as she took the ice-cream the cashier was handing her. It wouldn't do to scream at seemingly nothing at particular in public. She threw the pouting six year old a dirty look. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed at the six year old as she walked away, Sherlock's small legs breaking out into a jog in order to keep up with her.

"Language, Molly," Sherlock said calmly.

"You are not real; I don't have to watch my language," Molly retorted rather loudly. Some pedestrians threw her odd looks.

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, "Oh. Can we play the Doctor game when we get home?" Molly ignored him and walked a few steps. Against her better judgment, Molly glanced back over her shoulder, but Sherlock was gone once again.

* * *

_One year and six months. Oh God._

Molly lay back in her bed, Toby a warm weight on her abdomen. Her hand sifted through the soft fur, eyes closed as Toby's purrs rumbled through her body. It was a brief moment of utter relaxation; she was just in that magical moment between sleep and waking.

"Molly," said a small voice at the foot of her bed, "I…I had a bad dream."

Molly sat up, Toby jumping off of her with an indignant hiss, and said, "Well…I…"

"Please don't say I'm not real," The six-year-old pleaded. "I…I'm scared. Please."

Molly relented, deciding that it said something about her psychology that she couldn't refuse Sherlock-real or not. "Sure. Climb on up."

The boy climbed up and lay down next to her, hand stretching out to touch the bear, John the bear whose eternal place seemed to be the pillow next to Molly's. Molly sighed as his eyes closed. His curls were an absolute mess and Molly tentatively reached out her fingers to smooth them back. Her hand grasped at empty air.

* * *

_Damn it all to hell, she didn't care anymore. At least that's what she told herself repeatedly._

"Finally!" Molly exclaimed as she signed her last paper of the day. It had been a horrid day at work, with a car accident that resulted in two children and a pregnant woman losing their lives. Molly's emotions were more or less bubbling under the surface, all she wanted to do was take a deep soak and then fall flat into bed and bawl her eyes out for a bit. Molly had found out from the very beginning of her career that there was one way to cope every time a child, a child who should have lived a long and fruitful life, ended up on her slab. And that was to let it all out. A good sob once in a while helped her keep her sanity. Or what was left of it anyway. She didn't think that the fact she kept seeing the de-aged Sherlock nearly everywhere she had made memories with him said much about her sanity.

Molly hadn't heard about Sherlock Holmes for a long while. But she knew he was alive. Mycroft Holmes, for some reason known only to him, would send her random texts that more or less consisted of _Sherlock still alive. Stop fretting and get back to your work.-M.H_

* * *

_Meanwhile…_

John Watson gave a high pitched laugh, the kind of laugh one gives when one is in a rather large amount of shock and the only way one could react was to laugh or combust. The man-who-was-supposed-to-be-dead-_bloody hell he made me go through crap for three sodding years_ didn't even skip a beat as he stepped through the threshold of John's sad, little hotel room, saying smoothly, "I got the exact details of Moran's plan tonight. Care to join me in a little tiger hunt? And for heaven's sake, lower that gun of yours."

John giggled in a worrying manner for another minute before launching himself directly at Sherlock; more of a tackle than a bear hug, squeezing Sherlock's thin waist and not even bothering to control the tears flowing down.

"It's alright…" Sherlock said tentatively, awkwardly patting John's head. "I…er…I am sorry- Oof- What the _fu-?"_

"Oh shut up, you deserved it." John said dryly, pocketing his gun as Sherlock massaged the bruise that was already forming on the man's left cheekbone.

John was glad he used the butt of the revolver this time; he had nearly cut his knuckles the last time he punched Sherlock in the face.

* * *

_At 's St. Bart's…_

Molly walked down the deserted hallway, it was late and no one came near the morgue at this hour. Her friends had told her that the place at night gave them the creeps. She disagreed. Bart's was like her second home, she would never feel uncomfortable there. The only person who could make her feel…nervous, hadn't been in for nigh on two years and was dead to the world.

"Molly." A deep voice rang out, and Molly looked up to see the lithe form of Sherlock Holmes, dark clothes standing out in high relief against the sterile whiteness of the hospital. She looked up at him and her heart started beating at once.

He looked more or less the same, Belstaff and scarf on, except there seemed to be a growing bruise on his left cheek. Other than that, he looked completely like the Sherlock Holmes who had left her apartment at 4 in the morning more than two years ago.

"I need to see the Barton body. Moran is behind bars—_for now_—and I would…Molly?" Sherlock trailed off, seeing the odd look that had crossed Molly's face.

Molly had closed the distance between them somewhat and now, if Sherlock reached out his long arms, he could touch her easily. Molly raised her eyebrow. "Well, this is new. I usually hallucinate about the younger versions of you."

The not-real-older Sherlock's high cheekbones flushed pink. "Excuse me? I am not a hallucination."

Molly laughed scathingly. "That's what they all say. At least, now that you are your older douchebag self, I can be rude to you. Now out of my way or I'll walk right through you."

"Molly…!"

"Sherlock, or not-Sherlock, just shut up and move. I had a really bad day and I would like to go home-mmf!"

Sherlock had reached out suddenly and brought their lips together in a light, absolutely chaste kiss that nonetheless went through Molly's body like liquid fire. He pulled away just as quickly and backed away from her. "Now do you believe me?" He said rather smugly, "Hallucinations aren't solid-"

John Watson walked into the hallway just in time to see Molly's eyes roll back into her head and Sherlock make a grab for her before she collapsed on the floor.

* * *

Molly blinked several times before the dancing spots vanished from her eyesight. There was something hard and lumpy underneath her. _The sofa in the staff lounge_, her mind whispered to her. Oh yes, she knew that. She had taken a powernap on it often enough.

"You alright, Molls? I'm sorry this prat here gave you a fright," said the warm voice of John Watson next to her and she sat up and turned towards him. She gave him a tentative smile, taking in the deep tan, the new wrinkles on his face and his Army-cut hair streaked with premature grey. He smiled back and pulled her into a one-armed hug. She could feel the hard muscle beneath his shirt- the last time she had hugged him he had been rather soft.

John noticed her scrutiny and laughed, "Yeah, Africa helped with those."

A throat clearing in the distance made them both break apart, "Yes, are we all done with the reconciliations? I need to Mr. Barton's body now."

John turned and glared at him, "You just got back, gave both Molly and me a hell of a fright and now you want her to bring out some random dead body Moran just happened to mention? Sherlock, behave!"

It occurred to Molly that John was probably the one who had punched him. Hard, by the looks of the bruise. But the damp patch near Sherlock's chest told her that John had probably pulled him into a bear hug after that.

Sherlock had the grace to walk over to Molly and extend his hand. "I'm sorry. Am I forgiven?"

He had his eyes on Molly but she could tell that he was addressing John as well. Oh look, now he was looking the lost puppy effect. She should forgive him. It would be awkward otherwise. She should just forgive the gorgeous, fucking fantastic kisser in front of her.

Not.

She slapped the hand away; Sherlock instantly recoiling, eyes wide in shock. "What the hell are you doing Sherlock?" Molly snarled uncharacteristically. "I wait for two sodding years after being your nanny for six months and all you say is _sorry?"_

"Nanny...what? And two years, what do you mean two years?" John interjected quickly. Neither of them paid any mind.

"As you well know, Molly Hooper, I was in the midst of the case of a lifetime. I rather think social conventions-" Sherlock started.

Molly cut across him, "I would have appreciated some sort of indication at the very least! I mean, Sherlock, do you have _idea_ what I went through when you just strolled out of my flat in the middle of the night?"

"Am I missing something here?" John said. He was promptly ignored.

"Mycroft-" Sherlock began, but Molly was having none of that.

"Sent me periodic texts when I almost reached the end of my doubtful sanity which only said that you were alive! That…that was torture Sherlock. Not knowing whether or not you were alright or just on the brink of death or-"

Sherlock reached out and rested his hands on her shoulders which such tenderness that John raised his eyebrows in surprise. Molly stared fixedly at the floor. "Molly…I am so sorry. I don't think I can ever-"

"No, no you can't." Molly shrugged his hands off, "I think it'd be best if I…I need some space now. Here-" she handed him her ID. "You can use the pass to access the body you need. If you need anything else, ask for Doctor Richardson. I need to go now. Bye John."

And with that, she turned and without even a single look back, ran out of the lounge, both men staring after her. "I think she took it rather well, don't you?" John said after a stunned silence.

* * *

_A/N: Hello darlings! Thank you for all your support in this story, I mean Holy Loki, 196 reviews? That's…That's…I have no idea what to say now. I love reading your reviews, they make me feel *loved* and I'm super sorry I haven't replied back. Rest assured I will because I so appreciate you all taking the time to write feedback. And to the lurkers, I love you too. Thank you for reading this-__** Benedict-Addict Holmes, lostmypen120, Colorful Magic, Who Says It's A Rebellion, MadAsAHatterJayy, Hermione-amelia-rose1479, UnifiedNations, patemalah21, princeofthefallingangels, MisplacedHyperQuill, Lucy36, whytejigsaw, magicstrikes, SammyKatz, katdemon1895, Lono, Ssmill, Valeri, Empress Of Verace, friend2friend1, pji, ifan13, Deep-within-the-Labyrinth and MorbidByDefault!**_

_Lots of Love to __**A Pirate By Any Other Name**__, who is the sweetest person ever and who I am so super happy to call my beta._

_Love to __**NoveraDeMedeci**__ for the fangasms and to __**fiction-from-my-mind**__, for tolerating my fandom obsessions!_

_Now before you start hunting me down with knives, let me just tell you to stay tuned. *hint hint* ;)_

_Random question since everyone still has a case of the feels over the latest Doctor Who ep: Who would you rather kiss? Tom Hiddleston or Benedict Cumberbatch? I would choose Benny; I love Tom to death, but Benedict's lips are a work of art._

_So anyway, thank you for your time and STAY TUNED!_

_Review?_

_Love,_

_Adi x_


	12. Author's Note

Author's Note

This story is continued in At the Funeral, which is up now. I hope you read that!

Thanks!

Love,

Adi xoxo


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